


The sun of life’s morning.

by Kaesteranya



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On usefulness and the passage of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sun of life’s morning.

**Author's Note:**

> …Yeah, I sort of cheated with this one, since it is technically set in the Return on Investment universe, but it can stand on its own well enough. For those of you who are reading ROI, consider this a look into things to come WAY into the future.
> 
> Written for the prompt “I live for her memory”. The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for May 12, 2009.

You mistake her for her mother one morning on the hours before a big negotiation: she’s haloed in the light and it’s a pretty morning, really, except all you can think about is the cold of it and the light of it and how you’re dressed up again in your usual black suit and ready to move out to stay at her shoulder and wait for the perfect chance to fuck shit up in her name. How harsh this sort of life is on her and yet she never complains, never lifts up a finger in protest.

 

None of that’s important now, though, those menial details: meditate on your surprise you felt instead, when you came up to her room and walked in without knocking and found her already standing by the window, already dressed in Grim Reaper Clothes of her own. Splitting image of her mother, all long limbs and perfect hair and sweetest smile like no one else knew how to smile before she set the first example, and for a second there you were taken back and you thought you saw a ghost in the morning light, a trace of an aria in the curve of her lips and the fine lines of her face.

 

Good thing you don’t say the name; you’re not that stupid. Still, she figures it out with one look at your face, and you don’t know if that’s somehow worse, the fact that she doesn’t comment, doesn’t say anything, just smiles and smoothly diverts your attention with Talk.

 

“I thought you and Shou-chan agreed that Shou-chan was going to come with me today.”

 

“I changed my mind.”

 

That split second of sadness and the momentary ruefulness to her smile makes you remember for the umpteenth time that she’s not a child anymore and you really shouldn’t be treating her like one, but you haven’t quite fallen out of the habit of remembering what it used to be like, holding her tiny hands between your big big ones, guiding her as she stepped out on uneven ground for the first time, fearing that you’ll fess up somehow and she’ll fall and skin her knees. You cannot hold her hand now, not without looking kind of funny – you’re the old, washed up mutt amidst a sea of Young and (Over)eager, and most of the time the newbies wonder why the hell you’re still around and most especially why you’re always around the Princess.

 

Sometimes, you wonder that for yourself as well.

 

“Well, it’s been a while anyway. Shall we go?”

 

“Mm. Car’s out back.”

 

“Okay.”

 

There’s been an ache in your bones that you can’t quite get rid of lately, and you hate the fact that you have to do this eating healthy bullshit when you’ve always been a man for steak and mashed potatoes all day, any day, anytime and anywhere. It’s not that you’re unhealthy – it’s that you’re coming on with the years and not gaining any more time than that which you’ve been given. But the way she looks at you, oh, the way she looks at you – it’s like she doesn’t see the wear and tear that you see, like you’ve never stopped being anything but “Gamma”, the one closest to her mother and therefore the one closest to her own heart.

 

“…Gamma?”

 

“Sorry, drifted off there for a bit… ready, Princess?”

 

“Mm!”

 

It is sad, though, because in as much as you want to stay, you also know what’s best for her, and what is best does not include a broken up man with a gimp leg and a serious mid-life crisis going on. What she does not need is a specter of the old regime running about around her legs as she walks, a reminder of all the dust that folks like them seek to sweep under the rug and keep out of sight.

 

But you will hold on anyway, won’t you?

 

Because it’s the only thing you know how to do.


End file.
